


i hear your heartbeat to the beat of the drums

by violetonmain



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Animalistic, Canon Compliant, During Timeskip (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Feral Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, M/M, Masturbation, Pain, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:27:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27836809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violetonmain/pseuds/violetonmain
Summary: The border war with Sreng is bloody and ceaseless, and each battle is a grim, inhuman horror. Sylvain needs to feel alive.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42
Collections: Wank Week





	i hear your heartbeat to the beat of the drums

**Author's Note:**

> Written for FE3H Wanksgiving Weekend, for prompt "tent."

Sylvain returns to camp sweaty and aching. The border war with Sreng is bloody and ceaseless, and each battle is a grim, inhuman horror. Even more so in the dead of winter, which in the frozen north is a threat in its own right. The battle was neither a loss nor a win. Morale is low. The rest of the company trudged back exhausted and hollow from battle, but Sylvain’s body thrums, full to bursting with vile energy.

Sylvain stumbles into the solitude of the general’s tent, shame and urgent need pulsing through his blood as he unlaces his trousers and shoves his hand inside, gripping his half-hard dick and feeling it jump to life under his touch. He crashes into his cot, screwing his eyes shut against a wave of hot disgust and arousal.

He’s not even clean from the battle. His armor has been unstrapped and whisked away, but his clothes are drenched in sweat and streaked with dirt and dried blood. He gets a whiff of himself, and snippets of combat flash in his memory: brown beneath his boots, air thick with blood and magic, the blunt end of an axe in his side. His voice, rising as though called forth by someone else, bellowing orders as his lines began to break. The cold pull of emptiness sapping him of emotion. His dick strains hard and heavy in his fingers. Bile rises in his throat.

He hates that he does this, that he gets off after every brush with death thinking of sweat and violence. He wonders what people would say, if they knew. How they’d look at him.

He thinks of Ingrid’s horrified disgust, and Felix’s contempt, and Dimitri’s—

Actually, Dimitri might understand. Sylvain’s seen that dark desperation in his eyes. He’s seen that tortured look cross Dimitri’s face, heard his untethered mutterings from under his door late at night, knew he felt the weight of survival like a chain around his neck. Sylvain’s sure Dimitri knew this animalistic need clawing at his belly, to force him to feel, to ground him in life. He wonders if Dimitri ever gave into the need, if he ever allowed himself to satiate that primal urge. Sylvain tried to provoke him into it, a few times over, but it never seemed to take, not anywhere Sylvain could see. He thinks about it now, about Dimitri succumbing to his need, princely polish abandoned, teeth bared, eyes unfocused, lost to sensation. His dick jumps in his hand.

What would he be like, Dimitri? How would he be at his basest? Would he tear off his clothes, motivated by the need to feel touch on his flushed skin? Or would he be like Sylvain, only bothering to undress enough to touch what he needs? How would he touch himself? Has he, ever? Does he have a practiced technique, or would he move on pure instinct, rutting against anything in sight like a wild animal?

Sylvain groans and jerks at his dick, strokes roughly and without care for comfort. On another night, he’d tease, play with the head, run a finger over his balls, give himself what he wants. But tonight is not about what he wants.

Dimitri would understand. Sylvain’s sure of it. He’d have taken one look at Sylvain, muttering excuses and slinking off to his tent, and he’d have just _known_. Sylvain can picture it. He sees himself back at the Academy, meeting Dimitri after a battle, both of them sweat-soaked and musky, with hands smelling of dirt and iron. He sees Dimitri snarling and hollow-eyed, pushed too far and unable to hold back, coming to Sylvain in his need, knowing Sylvain needs it too.

Yeah, that’s the stuff. Sylvain’s hand works his dick fast and hard. Beads of precum wet the tip, but he ignores them, panting hoarsely at the feel of his dry, calloused hands on his sensitive skin. His body flushes hot, and his heart beats an insistent rhythm so strong his dick throbs in time with his pulse.

Dimitri’s violent as he shoves Sylvain against the wall and presses biting kisses over his mouth. Sylvain wraps his arms around Dimitri’s back. Fresh in his mind is the heat of battle, the crush of bodies. Blood pounding in his throat, the numbing body high of adrenaline, the lingering detachment. Dimitri’s hands shake. Sylvain presses their chests together, holds him close enough to hurt. It’s not enough.

They tear each other from their clothes and press their naked bodies together, mouths meeting hot and vicious, hands scrabbling at old scars and new bandages. Sylvain’s fingers dig into a stitched-up gash in Dimitri’s arm. Dimitri’s hands find—

Sylvain lifts the hem of his shirt and presses into a dark, fresh bruise by his hip. Pain spikes out beneath his fingers. He thrashes into it, body radiating heat, and _wails_.

They move against each other in a desperate, angry rut, joining the heat of their bodies together, feeling flesh warm and supple under their hands, under their mouths, between their legs. Dimitri’s hair smells of sweat and oil and grime, and his teeth scrape a welcome warning into Sylvain’s shoulder. He bites down, breaks skin, spills a hot gush of blood. Sylvain writhes against him, drags his nails down his back. Howls. Pain and pleasure tangle together and they are lost, their cries so animal, so human. Their heartbeats, loud in their ears, beat out a furious triumph— _a-live, a-live, a-live_ —

Sylvain bites down on his hand to muffle his scream as he comes, his whole body jerking with each pulse of his dick, sending hot cum splattering over his stomach, his chest, his neck. Blood pounds through his veins. Each breath is a deep, heaving whine.

Sylvain drifts in the fantasy a while longer, letting Dimitri pull him down to the bed and bask in the warm afterglow. For all the vicious carnality of their fucking, afterward Dimitri would treat him kindly. Dimitri would take one of his strong, warm hands and brush Sylvain’s hair away from his face. Sylvain would lean into his touch, would brush their foreheads together and let his eyes slip shut. They’d stay like that, curled together like lovers, soaking up each other’s warmth, feeling each other’s breath against their skin. It would be achingly sweet, achingly tender. Sylvain’s never been tender. He thinks, for Dimitri, he could be.

Could have been.

Sylvain regains awareness all too quickly. His cheek presses into a worn fur. His body curls against nothing, braced against the frigid air. Reality seeps back in, stark and cold in the quiet of the tent.

Word from the capital reached the border last night: the Crown Prince is dead, and with him all hope for the rest of them.

War rages constant from the north, and war approaches steadily from the south, and Sylvain and all his men are trapped between, doomed to a slow leeching of life, surviving by pure animal instinct rather than any will to live. Dimitri lies cold and still in an unmarked grave, and Sylvain is well on his way to joining him. The stale chill of death hangs heavy and ever-present over them both.

But for a moment, just for a moment, they were alive.

**Author's Note:**

> _oh what a shame that you came here with someone_   
>  _so while you're here in my arms_   
>  _let's make the most of the night like we're gonna die young!_
> 
> thanks for reading! i'm @violetonmain on twitter


End file.
